


and it may be foolish to fall as i do

by tellalie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, THATS A TAG!!!, Trampolines, genderfluid akaashi keiji, proabably ooc, the akaken and kagehina is heavily background, unsafe trampolining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellalie/pseuds/tellalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a trampoline in the middle of the courtyard across from Kuroo's first class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and it may be foolish to fall as i do

**Author's Note:**

> just guys being dudes.
> 
> yell at me about bokuro at alienstm on tumblr

There's a trampoline in the middle of the courtyard across from Kuroo’s first class. He isn't quite sure where it came from, just that it wasn’t there one morning and then it _was_ , all tempting and springy. Kuroo’s never seen anyone use it before.

He’s tried asking. He’d conducted a full-out investigation, damn it, but apparently the thing had been there since the beginning of time and didn't materialize as a manifestation of all the fun Kuroo wasn’t having out of high school.

It's a week after the trampoline’s appeared-definitely  _appeared_ , apparated, bent time and space to position itself right across from Kuroo’s eight am class- that Kuroo _finally_ sees someone jumping on it as he’s crossing the courtyard, loud, riotous shouts and whoops with each spring upwards.The guy’s still jumping when he waves Kuroo over, flashing white teeth and gold eyes that Kuroo thinks could look predatory in the right light.

“Did you know this thing was here?”

Kuroo’s heart flips.

“Because I just noticed it today.”

“I saw it last week.” Kuroo answers and drops his bag, ignoring the faint splash it makes connecting with wet grass, and swings one leg onto the trampoline. “Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Bokuto Koutarou,” he responds, squeezing Kuroo’s hand. “Wanna jump?”

Kuroo manages half a nod before the air’s knocked out of him and he’s propelled high enough to clear the net, high enough to see the littered top of his university building and the window of his dorm.

“I’m missing Analytics,” Kuroo heaves, somersaulting.

“Classic Lit!” Bokuto pulls his knees to his chest, laughs loud as he connects with the trampoline’s surface and Kuroo’s thrown again, flailing and landing heavily on his back.

“I thought I was _crazy_.” Kuroo confesses. Bokuto shakes his head solemnly.

“My roommate threatened to kick me out if I didn’t shut up about this thing.” Bokuto rests his head on his arms, staring up at Kuroo. “You have eight am Analytics?” Bokuto whistles when Kuroo nods. “You might know my roommate; they hate themself, too.”

Kuroo snorts, catching the mercury-fast glint in Bokuto’s eyes.

“If they’re rooming with _you_ , no wonder.”

Bokuto shoves him, grinning wide and open as Kuroo grabs onto his collar. They effectively wrestle until the courtyard’s milling with people and perhaps the one of the prettiest individuals Kuroo’s ever seen comes to stand opposite the trampoline’s net, sighing for all its worth.

“Bokuto-san.” It’s so exasperated that _Kuroo_ feels guilty, flexing his fingers free of Bokuto’s shirt and rolling off of him.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto lunges and loops his fingers through the net. Akaashi doesn’t bat an eye, Kuroo marvels, deducing that this must be the roommate Bokuto had mentioned. “This is Kuroo,” Bokuto introduces, “and he’s not crazy.”

Akaashi nods at him, taciturn. “Analytics.”

Kuroo smiles sheepishly.

“You skipped again?” This time, it’s directed at Bokuto, punctuated with elegant, narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“C’mon, Akaashi-”

There's a sanguine flush to Bokuto’s cheeks as Akaashi berates him and side-eyes Kuroo with what might be interest, what's most likely distaste.

“Please go to your next class.”

Bokuto mumbles, keeps his eyes fixed down until Akaashi’s out of earshot before groaning and lying beside Kuroo with a bounce.

“Whipped much?”

Bokuto swats him.

“It's not like that,” he mutters,”they’re the only reason I made it out of high school.” Bokuto tells him, rolling onto his side, close enough that their shins touch and Kuroo’s sure Bokuto’s aware of the cacophonous drumming of his heartbeat. “A friend of mine’s having a party tonight,” Kuroo bites his tongue, “and there’s going to be _a lot_ of weed. Like, a lot.”

“And you need someone to call the police.”

Bokuto stares, blinking owlishly until it hits him and then he’s jabbing Kuroo in the ribs, cool, strong fingers wiggling against his sides till Kuroo’s grappling for breath and wheezing.

“So you’ll be there?” Bokuto asks as he shimmies through the hole in the net, tumbling and landing on his ass beside the trampoline. He rolls his eyes when Kuroo taps his chin and feigns thought, grabbing Kuroo’s ankle to pull him down beside him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo waves him off, “I’ll be there.”

Bokuto’s smile splits wide and bright, crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and the dent of a dimple in his left cheek, and he waves at Kuroo as he jogs into the adjacent building.

 

***

 

“ _Fuck_ .” Kenma looks up, kicking Kuroo where he’s spread-eagle on the floor. “He fucking- _dammit_.”

“If there’s going to be that much weed there, I’m sure someone’ll know where it is,” Kenma says, digging his toes into Kuroo’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe he didn’t give me the address.”

Kenma shrugs.

“Who is this guy?”

“Bokuto Koutarou,” Kuroo answers, shoved into the grimy carpet. “I should have known, why would he ask _me_ -”

“Oh. Keiji’s roommate.” There's a funny tilt to Kenma’s mouth.

“Akaashi? You know them?”

“Class.” Kenma pulls out his phone, “They said Bokuto’s having an aneurysm because he realised he didn’t tell you where the party is.” Kuroo laughs, high and reedy. “He’s gonna pick you up.”

“You’re an angel.”

“You smell like dirt.”

Kenma hits him with a pillow when Kuroo makes to hug him, taking the time that Kuroo’s disoriented to slink back to his bedroom.

Bokuto knocks with rapid, spitfire raps on the door that Kuroo’s pulse can't help but mimic, just as he’s yanking his best (tightest) jeans up his thighs.

“I’m so sorry,” Bokuto pants, scrambling to his feet when Kuroo manages to get the door open. There’s a tug at the pit of Kuroo’s stomach at the prospect that Bokuto might've run the whole way here, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “I’m such an idiot, I was about to call the university to figure out if they had an address on you-whoa.”

Kuroo looks down at himself, feels self-consciousness creep up the back of his neck, slimy and malignant.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just thought your hair was bedhead.”

“It _is_ bedhead,” Kuroo mutters, glowers when Bokuto gapes. “And I can’t fucking fix it. Do you really have room to talk?” Bokuto’s mouth closes with a click.

“At least I do mine like this on purpose!” He laughs. “I like it, though. You look-” He turns puce, stuttering. “Um. Ready?”

Kuroo nods and falling into step with Bokuto is easier than breathing.

It’s already dark, Kuroo notices, and far too muggy to be comfortable, his shirt sticking wetly to his back. Bokuto has his face turned towards the sky and his hands in his pockets, bumping his shoulder against Kuroo’s with every other step.

Kuroo learns that Bokuto played volleyball in high school and that he and Akaashi dated for a year before university.

“I knew you were whipped,” Kuroo teases, and Bokuto kicks a stone at him, “can I ask what happened?”

“We were better as friends, you know? They kept me right.”

Kuroo nods, kindling the lukewarm flash of jealousy in his stomach.

“There’s _nothing_ between us now,” Bokuto emphasizes, eyeing him. “I think Akaashi’s pretty fond of your roommate, actually.”

“Kenma?” Kuroo kicks the pebble back at Bokuto. “He looked pretty funny when he was talking about them.”

“What’s with you two?” Bokuto asks, and the too-casual cadence of his voice gives him away. Kuroo bites his lip to keep from smiling.

“We grew up together and he’s my best friend.”

“That’s that?”

“That's that.”

Bokuto’s silent, but the skip in his step hitches just a notch higher.

“It's not much further,” He says. “You'll smell it first.”

Kuroo feels the thrum of music before anything else, ringing loud and pulsing through the concrete sidewalk.

Bokuto touches his elbow to steer him, guides him up steep stairs and taps his nose when they reach the source of noise and-

Kuroo’s head reels when he breathes in, thick, heavy clouds of smoke hanging low in the room, fat with humidity.

The gleam of Bokuto’s smile is catlike, backlit by strung lights. Someone’s managed to procure a host of lava lamps, Kuroo sees, and beneath the densest cloud is a cluster of people intently watching the magma congeal and separate.

“Orange hair!” Bokuto shouts to be heard over the music. His lips graze hot along the shell of Kuroo’s ear, setting his skin alight and rendering him just dizzy enough to sway, stepping close and retreating. “Tiny man with orange hair!”

“I don't really do more than weed,” Kuroo yells back, watching Bokuto's eyebrows furrow before they relax and crease again with laughter

“It's not code!” Bokuto pushes Kuroo towards the kitchen. “Look for a literal tiny orange man.”

Kuroo glimpses a kid perched on the kitchen counter that can't be older than a first year, his legs wrapped tight around the waist of someone whose fingers are tangled tight in his vivid, vermillion hair.

“Need something?” The kid’s looking at him, brown doe-eyes dilated and tinged red.

Bokuto props his chin on Kuroo’s shoulder and waves.

“Shouyou!”

He grins, baring his teeth close to Kuroo’s cheek.

“Bokuto-san!”

Shouyou jumps down from the counter, barrelling towards them, and Kuroo sidesteps just before Shouyou’s colliding hard with Bokuto’s front.

“You never stop by anymore,” Shouyou whines, thumping his fists against Bokuto’s chest. “I’ve been stuck with Kageyama,” he gestures at the guy behind them, tall, dark, and sullen to Shouyou’s warmth, “and he refuses to get high on school nights.” Shouyou’s eyes drift to Kuroo, blinking. “Who’s this?”

“Ah,” Bokuto rubs the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at him. “New friend.” Shouyou snorts.

“You know I’ll always help you get laid.” He’s clambering off Bokuto faster than he’d climbed on, ducking behind the counter and resurfacing with a lit joint between his lips and an armful of plastic baggies. “This is the best stuff I have.”

Bokuto hums, leaning into the faint glow of Shouyou’s joint, and Kuroo can pinpoint the track of his blush over his cheeks and down his neck.

“Just take this.” Shouyou’s rolling his eyes, shoving a bag at Kuroo and a handful of rolled joints at Bokuto. “And get out of here before you use it.”

Bokuto ruffles Shouyou’s hair before latching onto Kuroo’s sleeve, tugging him from the apartment.

“I know where to go.”

 

***

 

“Holy shit.”

Bokuto’s climbed onto the trampoline already, and Kuroo lets himself be pulled up and steadied. Bokuto’s hands rest large and warm on his shoulders; Kuroo’s glad the humidity’s dispersed, rendering the night cool and cloudless and turning Bokuto’s hair liquid silver in argent moonlight.

“Lighter, lighter,” Bokuto mutters, patting down his pockets, “Lighter!” Bokuto lights the joint, sitting down and gesturing for Kuroo to follow as he pulls smoke into his mouth, fluid and unfairly sexy.

“That’s-” Bokuto coughs, fitting Kuroo’s fingers around the roll. “It’s really good.”

Kuroo lifts it to his lips and inhales, opens his lungs to accept the smoke, tinted just barely with strawberry and something else that fogs his peripheral vision. Kuroo’s glad Bokuto’s in front of him, focused and bright.

Bokuto’s fingers close around his wrist and draw him in, breathing smoke with his eyes hooded, and Kuroo wonders if he looks the same: ruddy, with bitten-raw lips and drooping eyelashes.

“C’mere.”

Briefly, Kuroo panics. He flounders while the drug takes its time, but Bokuto’s tugging insistently at the front of his shirt, leaning closer. Kuroo obeys and moves until he’s resting atop Bokuto’s strong thighs, Bokuto’s mouth at the tip of his nose.

Heat, as he sucks in smoke again, plucking the joint from in between Kuroo’s fingers, and his thumb presses to the seam of Kuroo’s lips. Kuroo hears his heartbeat knock hard in his ears and pick up sonic speed as Bokuto bends closer, opening his mouth and breathing smoke thick against Kuroo’s palate.

“Fuck,” Bokuto mutters, and Kuroo barely has time to swallow before Bokuto’s kissing him, pulling Kuroo flush to his chest. He nudges Kuroo’s lips, keeping Kuroo’s mouth tugged open with a thumb against his bottom lip, and Kuroo grips him right back. His fingers fix taut in Bokuto’s hair, shivering hard as Bokuto’s hands rove beneath his shirt and over his shoulder blades.

It’s years when they separate, Kuroo thinks, but the moon’s barely moved an inch and Bokuto still looks deliciously youthful, flushed across the bridge of his nose to the tips of his ears.

Kuroo clears his throat and shifts backwards off of Bokuto’s legs.

“Don't fuck with me,” he hears himself say, disembodied and floating, “I probably like you more than just-”

“Yeah,” Bokuto cuts him off, edging closer. “Yeah, me too, I didn't want to say anything because I didn't know and I hoped-” fidgeting, Bokuto’s fingers soft on his cheek “-one night, if that's all I could get.”

The lit end of their joint is searing a hole through the trampoline, and Bokuto picks it up, pulls Kuroo in with a hand at the nape of his neck, blowing in smoke as he does and licking at the inside of Kuroo’s mouth.

“Really good weed,” Bokuto mumbles, pressed against Kuroo’s mouth, “and you're a _really_ good kisser.”

Kuroo bites down on Bokuto’s lower lip, swallowing Bokuto’s sigh and moving the joint between them. Bokuto’s eyes widen and dilate as Kuroo takes a drag, opening his mouth and closing his eyes so Kuroo can seal their lips together.

And they breathe like this, joined, sweat collecting in the dips of Kuroo’s clavicle as they kiss the air out of each other’s lungs. Kuroo rests his palm flat against Bokuto’s abdomen, feels Bokuto’s muscles flex as he lifts him into his lap and tilts his hips into Kuroo’s, teasing, testing, and Kuroo’s phone rings loud between them, vibrating in his pocket.

He really wouldn't have picked up if it hadn't been Kenma, kissing Bokuto’s cheek apologetically as he climbs off of him and onto the trampoline’s rim.

“You're not at the party?” Kenma’s voice is barely louder than the bass behind it.

“We left early,” Kuroo answers, kicking his feet. “Where the hell are you?”

“There.” Kuroo can _hear_ him fidgeting. “Keiji asked me to come.” Kenma sniffs. “There’s a lot of weed here.”

“You’re at a _party_?”

“I know how to handle myself.”

“But-” Kuroo jumps as Bokuto’s arms find themselves around his waist, Bokuto’s lips on his neck. “There’re some weird people there.”

“Whatever. Keiji’s here. Anyways, the apartment’s empty.”

“Okay?” Kuroo tries to focus, Bokuto’s hands roaming far too close to the button on his jeans. “Oh. Okay. Hey, please stay away from that orange kid-”

Kenma hangs up just as Kuroo hears Shouyou’s voice over the receiver. Bokuto picks the phone from his hand and turns Kuroo’s face to kiss him soundly. Kuroo tastes smoke beneath Bokuto’s tongue, cloyingly sweet and saccharine.

“I heard your apartment’s empty.”

 

***

 

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

Bokuto bares his teeth, feral and ardent.

“A fucking _blue shell_?”

There’s an overturned bag of chips on the couch and Bokuto’s knee sits right against Kuroo’s, bumping him with each movement.

“You’re going down.”

“You’re literally in last place,” Bokuto laughs through a mouthful of chips. “I’ll take responsibility for distracting you during that last lap.” Kuroo swerves, thinks about Bokuto’s sharp teeth on his neck.

Bokuto’s method is reckless, messy, almost effusive in his use of weapons. Kuroo drives his kart off the track while looking at him, taking in the golden glint of Bokuto’s eyes and the pull in his cheek from his dimple.

“I win!”

He’s tackling Kuroo backwards, pushing him down against the couch’s worn arm and hovering, his hair ungelled and hanging into his eyes. The screen scintillates behind them as Kuroo twists his fingers into Bokuto’s collar and yanks him down, kissing him and wincing as their teeth click together.

He flips them, feels his gut twist when Bokuto _looks_ at him, pushes Kuroo’s hair back and flutters his eyelashes against Kuroo’s jaw.

“I’m actually really tired,” Bokuto admits, petting Kuroo’s hair until he falls forward, his head pillowed on Bokuto’s chest. “Like, you’re so fucking hot. But I want to be completely awake for-”

Kuroo claps a hand over Bokuto’s mouth.

“No rush.”

Bokuto’s lips twitch below his hand, pulling it away to kiss the center of his palm, and Kuroo tries to temper the heat in his cheeks.

“No rush,” Bokuto repeats.

 

***

 

Bokuto wakes him up with a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek, laughing as Kuroo blinks his way into consciousness and swats him away.

“We have six joints and the bag leftover,” Bokuto tells him, shaking Kuroo’s shoulder. Kuroo sits up and smacks his lips, grimacing at the taste in his mouth and cracking his back.

They smoke until Kuroo’s brain is reduced to goo, liquid between his ears, and Bokuto’s lips on his jaw spread heady warmth to the tips of his toes.

He scribbles his number on Kuroo’s palm and leaves him with a kiss at the corner of his mouth and half a baggie of weed. Kuroo closes the door only after Bokuto’s turned the corner and disappeared.

He knocks on Kenma’s door with his knee, two bowls of cereal balanced precariously on his forearms and Kenma’s DS cradled in his hands. Kuroo offers the console first and waits for Kenma to take it before perching at the end of his bed.

“I can't believe you went.”

Kenma shrugs, takes a spoonful of cereal and boots up his DS.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah.”

“You really like them, don't you?”

Kenma’s DS hits the floor with a clatter, sliding beneath his desk. Kuroo ducks down to reach it.

“I do,” he answers, avoiding Kuroo’s eyes, “and I don't know what to do.”

Kuroo grins, settling beside Kenma.

“Could it be that you're asking me for advice?”

“As if.”

“I'm two steps ahead of you right now,” Kuroo smirks, resting his head atop Kenma’s. “Didn't you see who walked out of the apartment ten minutes ago? Did you _see_ him? We-” Kuroo stops, furrows his eyebrows. “Um.”

“What?” Kenma pauses his game and tosses it to the foot of his bed. “Please tell me I can still sit on that couch.”

“Uh, yeah.” Kuroo shoves his face into Kenma’s pillow. “We actually didn’t hook up last night.”

“Wow.”

“We  _almost_ did.”

Kenma raises an eyebrow, playing with his fingers.

“He left me the rest of the weed.”

“How romantic. You’re not smoking it here.” Kenma says and plucks the bag from Kuroo’s back pocket. “Maybe you should text him,” Kenma taps Kuroo’s palm, “he obviously wants you too.”

“He just left,” Kuroo caterwauls, “I’m not that desperate.”

“Sure. Get out, then, I promised Keiji I’d call them when I got home.”

Kuroo peels himself up from Kenma’s mattress, trudging back to his own room and collapsing supine on his bed, his phone held above him.

He taps in the number scrawled onto his skin, lingers too long on the swooping curves of Bokuto’s ‘6’s and the slope of his ‘2’s, and saves it, shutting his phone off before he does something immensely mindless like _call_ him.

For the first time, Kuroo wishes he had class to distract him, misses the vapid lull of his Analytics teacher’s voice to occupy his mind with more than the auric shine of Bokuto’s eyes every time he blinks, and he digs around below his bed for his DS before padding back to Kenma’s room.

“Hi, Akaashi.”

“Kuroo-san,” Akaashi responds.

Kenma eyes him briefly before making room for him.

“Had fun with Kenma?”

Kenma blanches and Akaashi chokes, coughing hard into the receiver..

“Leave,” Kenma demands, pointing at the door, and Kuroo cackles through his apology, holding tight to Kenma’s blanket as his roommate attempts to move him bodily. “I swear to god-”

“I’m done, I promise,” Kuroo begs, heaving, and Kenma grumbles, letting him back onto the bed.

Akaashi’s laughing, dulcet and subdued, and Kenma’s lips twitch jerkily into a smile.

“I should do my homework,” Akaashi says. They bid Kuroo goodbye, telling Kenma they’ll see him tomorrow, and then it’s silent on the other end.

“They’re good for you,” Kuroo tells him, accepts Kenma’s challenge for a Pokemon battle. Kenma destroys him in two moves, dropping his DS onto his stomach and curling into himself. “I haven’t been able to get you out of the apartment for grocery shopping, never mind a _party_. I’m impressed.”

“Let it go,” Kenma rolls over, “you’re getting obsessive.”

“I’m _happy_ for you,” Kuroo insists, but Kenma rolls his eyes.

“Thanks. You’re also jealous.”

“ _J_ _ea-_ are you kidding me?”

“Text him.”

“It’s been, like, four hours.”

“And I’m sick of your pining,” Kenma glares at him, “it’s not even justified pining. He likes you back.”

“He won’t when he realises how gross and clingy I get.”

“I know how gross and clingy you get and I still let you live here.”

“Rude. You let me live here because I pay rent and make up for you socially.”

“Equivalent exchange,” Kenma says, but it’s fond, tugging at something in Kuroo’s chest. He opens Kuroo’s palm and presses his phone into it. “Text him. You don’t have a reason to be insecure.”

“I-wow, Kenma,” Kuroo holds Kenma’s hand in his, “that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Kenma kicks him out, then, throwing things until Kuroo retreats.

Steeling his nerves takes him four episodes of some anime Kenma had left playing on TV and two more bowls of cereal, his phone resting on his knee and goading him through it all. Kenma leaves his room a couple of times, makes disappointed noises at Kuroo when he sees in the same state as before and snatches the box of cereal from him before locking his bedroom door.

Three letters have never taken him so long to type, a meager, unsure 'hey', but Bokuto takes less than a minute to respond, along with copious amounts of loud emojis and a blurry picture of Akaashi giving a thumbs up.

**i thought u accidentally washed your hand and lost my # T-T**

Kuroo feels his ears start to warm, heat spreading to the tip of his nose.

 **sorry,** Kuroo types, waits ten seconds before pressing send, **had an essay to write for psych**

 **ew,** and then, **i’ve been checking my phone all day :3**

Kuroo holds his breath.

 **free tmrw?** He asks, and Bokuto replies back with a page of exclamation points, telling Kuroo to meet him at the trampoline and they’ll go for lunch. Kenma sticks his head through the doorway.

 **“** Keiji said Bokuto’s trying to climb the walls.” Kuroo hopes he doesn’t look too giddy when he turns to face Kenma, his face contorted to keep from grinning wide.

Bokuto texts him goodnight, hours later, accompanied by a picture of him buried under a mound of pillows. Kuroo sends back Kenma’s startled expression when the flash goes off and falls asleep to the brightness of his screen.

 

***

 

Kuroo finds Bokuto crosslegged in the center of a patch of dead, brittle grass, his hair down and his face twisted.

“It's gone,” Bokuto sniffs, stares up at him with wet, red eyes, and Kuroo’s heart drops to his stomach.

The trampoline’s vanished like it'd never been there in the first place, leaving a ring of brown grass where the sun hadn't been able to touch it.

“It's _gone_ ,” Kuroo repeats, and drops to sit beside Bokuto. “What the hell?”

“Was it here yesterday?”

“I didn't even leave the apartment,” Kuroo admits. “Oh, jeez, don't cry,” Kuroo wipes his thumbs over Bokuto’s cheeks, kissing him quickly.

“Why the _fuck-_ ” Bokuto wrings his hands, scrubbing at his eyes. “What a dick thing to do.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo stands, helps Bokuto onto his feet. “let's get food.”

Bokuto nods, sniffles, and twines their fingers together.

They go to Bokuto’s favorite takoyaki place, a worn storefront with missing lights in the sign, but Kuroo swears he's never tasted anything better as Bokuto knocks their ankles together below the table.

Bokuto buys ice cream and they go back to sit where the trampoline had been, spreading out over the dead grass.

“I think the university got rid of it.” Bokuto says. “I bet you they found the weed.”

“Maybe,” Kuroo responds, “but consider this: aliens.” Bokuto’s eyes widen and he leans forward on his palms.

“ _Aliens.”_

They theorise until the sun drops and it gets chilly enough that goosebumps raise on Kuroo’s arms. Bokuto insists on walking him back, keeps his hand linked with Kuroo’s till they reach his door and then it's coming up to cup his face and pull him down, and he kisses Kuroo till they're giggling into it, clutching at each other like teenagers.

“Come in,” Kuroo says, breathless, and Bokuto’s cheeks pink as he nods.

Kuroo tries his hand at continuing to kiss Bokuto and walking backwards, stubbing his toe against his bedroom’s doorframe hopping gracelessly till he’s tumbling onto his mattress, Bokuto above him.

“Impressive,” Bokuto laughs, and Kuroo bites him in retaliation. Bokuto tugs at his hair, grinning gleaming and machiavellian, and his hand plays with the hem of Kuroo’s shirt. Kuroo raises his arms to help him tug it off and Bokuto raises his eyebrows, running his fingers over Kuroo’s hard-earned abs.

“ _How_ ,” Bokuto asks, grinds against Kuroo’s stomach, “I can’t believe you live off ramen.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Kuroo’s eyes wander to where Bokuto’s biceps stretch the arm of his t-shirt before flicking back up to meet Bokuto’s. Bokuto stutters, turns winsomely red, and he pulls his shirt over his head, lifting Kuroo into his lap. He holds Kuroo’s waist, achingly tender, one hand resting tentatively at the button of his jeans. “Go for it,” Kuroo tells him, wiggling his hips.

“God,” Bokuto says, once Kuroo’s embarrassingly bare, straining hot and hard at the front of his briefs, and Kuroo feels his stomach pitch at the stars in Bokuto’s eyes. Bokuto breathes in, shaky, and he’s surging forward to kiss him and kiss him, pulling Kuroo’s underwear down inch by tantalizing inch. “I want-can I?”

“As if I’d say no,” Kuroo says, dripping confidence, but his voice trembles, quivers as Bokuto lays him down and lifts off of him for two, terrifying seconds, and then he’s back and all over him, hot and encompassing. Kuroo loses himself easily in Bokuto mouthing at the insides of his thighs, large, warm hands spanning over his stomach and rubbing over his nipples, his nails rough down Kuroo’s sides. Bokuto’s tongue dips closer, closer till it’s lolling just above his cock, and Kuroo covers his face. He knocks his skull against the wall as Bokuto walks his lips down the underside, sucking at him wetly, and he brings Kuroo’s hands down to tangle in his hair.

“Pull,” he says, and swallows Kuroo down to the hilt. He stays there, lets Kuroo buck jerkily into his mouth before he kisses back up and sinks down again, the pricking hint of teeth at Kuroo’s base making his breath catch, tear, expel hoarsely as a sob. His fingers flex tight in Bokuto’s hair, anchoring his vision back to his eyes as Bokuto smiles sunnily up at him.

“I’m good, huh?” He says, and Kuroo laughs incredulously.

“I guess so,” Kuroo attempts impassivity, but Bokuto’s fist closes around his cock and tugs, slow and dragging, cutting his breath short. “Okay, okay- _f_ _uck-_ I’m gonna come,” Kuroo warns, but Bokuto doesn’t let up, jerks him till Kuroo kicks him in the ribs to get him to stop. “Quit,” he laughs, sets his hand at the nape of Bokuto’s neck to bring him in for a kiss. “I want you to fuck me, is all. Don’t want to come before that.”

“Huh,” is all Bokuto says, bracing himself on his hands above Kuroo. “I- _wow_.”

“We don’t have to,” Kuroo hurries, but Bokuto shakes his head.

“I really want to,” he says, and he’s kissing Kuroo again, eyes shut, and Kuroo draws Bokuto’s zipper down, pushes him backwards to tug his pants off and grip Bokuto through his boxers.

“I want to do a lot to you,” he breathes, swallows Kuroo’s gasp. Bokuto drags his teeth over Kuroo’s lower lip. His hands move to Kuroo’s hips, asking, and Kuroo nods, turning over onto all fours, jumping as Bokuto’s palms settle heavy on his ass. Kuroo keens as Bokuto’s breath fans over his hole, his hands lifting and resettling, and he bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood when Bokuto touches his tongue to Kuroo’s perineum, feather-light.

“Come on,” he wriggles his hips back, “god, _more_ ,” Kuroo hears himself whine, dropping to his forearms and hanging his head, arcing as Bokuto licks broadly over his hole and holds him firmly in place. He flips Kuroo and knocks the breath out of him, pulling him to the edge of the bed and starting at the head of Kuroo’s cock, licking down, open-mouthed and filthy till he reaches Kuroo’s hole and sucks at his rim. Kuroo holds Bokuto’s hair back, grounded only by the strong grip Bokuto has on his thighs as he squirms, locks his legs around Bokuto’s head as he dips his tongue past Kuroo’s hole.

“Kou-” He’s keening, simultaneously grinding against Bokuto’s mouth and arching to get away, “Koutarou, _fuck_ , please-”

Bokuto relents, pulling back. Kuroo watches him wipe his lips with the back of his mind, can practically hear the cogs in his mind turning.

“I have mouthwash,” Kuroo tells him, surprised his voice still works. “And there’s condoms and stuff in there, too,” he says, laughs as Bokuto bounds excitedly towards the bathroom. Kuroo keeps a hand around his cock, smiles lucidly at Bokuto when he returns.

“I’m still going to finger you,” Bokuto crawls between his spread legs, kissing him, tasting like ice cream and the artificial mint of Kuroo’s mouthwash, and Kuroo hisses as Bokuto’s fingers rub at his hole. “Okay?”

“Go,” Kuroo demands, pressing down. “Go go g- _fuck_ -”

Bokuto sinks two fingers into him right down to the knuckle, watches Kuroo’s eyes fly open wide before screwing shut again.

“Can’t wait,” Bokuto whispers, scissors his fingers and works Kuroo’s prostate.

“Don’t,” Kuroo heaves, clenching tight.

Bokuto’s movements stutter, hesitate, but then he’s pulling his fingers from Kuroo and rolling on a condom, lining himself up and groaning low in his throat as he pushes forward, pushes _in_ , and Kuroo’s reduced to just the points where Bokuto’s hands hold him, at his waist, at the base of his throat.

His breaths come short, punched-out and ragged, and Bokuto presses his fingers into Kuroo’s hips as he waits for him to adjust.

“ _Tight,_ ” Bokuto sighs, and Kuroo digs his heels into Bokuto’s back, “fuck, you’re so tight,” Bokuto brushes his hair out of his face, cups Kuroo’s cheek.

“Come on,” Kuroo edges him, clamps his thighs shut, and Bokuto snaps his hips, forcing Kuroo up the mattress and bunching the sheets below him, “right there, right-oh _fuck_ -”

Bokuto slips his fingers into Kuroo’s mouth. His hips slam hard into Kuroo’s and he holds him tight, bruising him into the mattress, and Kuroo hears his voice mount as Bokuto angles and times hits to his prostate with strokes to his cock. He wraps his arms around Bokuto’s neck, locks his ankles and pulls Bokuto’s weight onto him.

“That’s it,” Bokuto bites out, drives into him, licks over the shell of Kuroo’s ear and pulls Kuroo down onto his cock with each pitch forward. “Close?” His hand tightens around Kuroo, squeezing, and Kuroo gives in to the pressure in his stomach, clutching Bokuto to him and crying out as he comes, spilling hot between them.

Bokuto stays still, pressed against Kuroo’s prostate until Kuroo’s ridden out the aftershocks of his orgasm. He kisses Kuroo’s temple and grinds into him, slow and languid and just the right side of overstimulating till he's shaking and shuddering Kuroo’s name as he climaxes.

Silence, sticky and thick as they breathe, Bokuto’s fingers gentle on Kuroo’s skin as he cleans him off.

“You're okay?” Bokuto mumbles, falling boneless on top of him. Kuroo huffs, nodding, and Bokuto smiles against his sternum.

“You're heavy.”

“You're comfortable,” Bokuto flops off of him, tugs him against his side and taps his fingers rhythmically along Kuroo’s spine until he's drifting, dipping backwards into sleep.

 

***

 

“They’re gross,” Kuroo hears Kenma say, “literally, they haven’t gotten out of bed and it’s two in the afternoon.”

“Don’t judge,” Kuroo voices. Bokuto mumbles, nuzzles further into the back of Kuroo’s neck and holds him tighter. “I couldn’t get up if I wanted to.”

“Bokuto-san, you have class.” Akaashi leans against the door, amused, Kenma tapping at his phone beside them. “And Kuroo-san, you’ve already missed Analytics. Again.”

Bokuto’s groan vibrates through to Kuroo’s toes.

Kenma tosses a granola bar at Kuroo, hitting him squarely in the center of his forehead.

“Eat, at least,” He says, and takes Akaashi’s hand, closing the door behind them.

It's hot in his room, and Bokuto’s skin is striped with the light filtered through Kuroo’s blinds. His chest rises and falls, even and natural, and Kuroo peers down at him.

“I like you,” he says, pushes back Bokuto’s hair.

“I like you, too,” Bokuto’s response comes quickly, excited, and Kuroo has time to blink before being tickled to within an inch of his life, Bokuto’s lips sweet and soft on his neck before they’re insistent at his hips, and Kuroo’s dissolving again, dissipating into smoke and steam and into the sunlight streaming warm through his window.  


End file.
